Rather I would have followed
an emperor
in to the grave.
Or been the village shaman
seer of the invisible world,
embracing the all too familiar
neurotic episode.

Perhaps the philosophers lot,
solitary contemplation.
Straddling the razors edge with
honed but addled senses,
an icy cabin my domain.

Or, if to live in the world,
to have a family,
then to have a good one.
Part of the earth itself.
Instructing my progeny in
the joy of wisdom,
and dwelling in truth.

Rather I would have braved
the heroes journey,
that of self discovery.

Being set apart
The trials
Rising above
New knowledge/strength
Rebirth
The return

But here, now
cast into the abyss of
economic entanglement
in a world with out myth,
devoid of true import,
with few signposts, guides
or rites of passage
our only legacy
employment,
old age
and empty death.

Our shamans sit, encased
In cubicles
kept in check.
Poets,
only on the side.